How so?
Whoever brought us here might also be having difficulty detecting us.
Finally, Jarrod understood Keegan’s urgency to move away from where they’d been deposited. If he’d had shoulders, they would have collapsed in relief.
At least temporarily, Keegan amended his reassuring statement.
Jarrod’s tension spiked again. By Keegan’s erratic movement, he suspected the king wanted to not only lose their kidnapper, but this crowd, too. Yet, the further they went, the more teeming the surroundings felt, as if he were in the midst of market day, with people bustling about, bumping each other from stall to stall.
This way. Keegan drew Jarrod in another direction.
The crowds didn’t thin out but Jarrod was glad simply to move about. Stillness felt akin to being buried alive. How do you know so much about this place, sir?
The dead are allowed to learn much, Keegan said as he wove among the crowd. The secret to life is written in the winds, Jarrod. This is true on Ryca as well as on Ashari. However, on Ryca, people are too distracted by the ‘things’ around us and our concerns about what we want, to pay attention to unseen truths. On Ashari, many focus on what we’ve lost instead of where we came from.
Not you? Jarrod asked.
Especially me. A moment does not go by when I do not reflect on all whom I lost so prematurely. I’m a determined man, Jarrod. It came to me one day that if I could study how life began, I might find a way to…
The abrupt end to the king’s speech provoked Jarrod’s curiosity. Find a way to do what, sir?
Keegan did not respond and Jarrod wondered if he’d been presumptuous in asking.
They continued on for a while in silence. Then the king spoke. I wanted to find a way to return to my Mamosia.
The answer, and the longing behind the words, touched Jarrod. He recognized the feeling, for he had sensed it often in the presence of the queen. Even so many years after the death of her husband, Queen Mamosia still grieved, and still hoped that one day she would see the love of her life again.
As an historian, it was his role to record events, and mark the reasons behind people’s actions. He had often thought that was why he, and other Erovians, had been given the gift of empathy – to intuitively read people’s emotions.
Yet, he’d never been able to entirely separate himself from the feelings he gained from his subjects. Other Erovians acknowledged those same passions and recorded the whys behind actions without becoming involved in people’s lives. Jarrod always felt the urge to help, to offer support, to ease people’s sorrows.
In truth, that had been why he became so involved with Saira’s quest. So much so, he had bowed to her demands that he help and had assisted her in rescuing her family instead of merely recording the event. Instead of regretting his part in that play, Jarrod secretly rejoiced in his role.
In your studies, did you discover any hint of how to get back to Ryca? he asked the king.
No, Keegan said in a regretful voice.
The answer crushed Jarrod’s slight hopes of them escaping this dark place.
There’s always a way, Keegan added, some of his redoubtable spirit returning. I simply haven’t discovered it yet. As for our current dilemma, why we were brought here might hold the clue to us gaining our freedom.
Please explain.
Nothing in life happens without a reason. It’s all about healing, either by soothing a scarred wound or burning a gaping one closed.
I hope it’s the former, Jarrod replied, not liking the sound of being an open wound that needed to be burned closed.
That remains to be seen, Keegan said. The trick is, why you’re here may be different from why I’m here.
How so?
The king paused and when he finally replied, he did so aloud. “Because you, Jarrod, are an Erovian.”
Jarrod drew back shocked that Keegan had given away their presence.
“Jarrod,” a nearby voice repeated.
“Erovian?” several others said, sounding surprised.
“Jarrod, Erovian, Jarrod, Erovian.” The chant spread.
The crowd closed about Jarrod, touching when there was nothing to touch, inciting his panic. Where Keegan’s touch had seemed warm, these beings felt icy cold.
Why did you do that? he asked the king. He felt as if Keegan had put a boot to his backside and shoved him into an arena of hungry lions. We’re never going to lose them now.
If anyone’s safe here, it’s you, Keegan calmly replied.
The more Jarrod pushed the spirits away, the closer they drew, as if they’d discovered a new toy that must be prodded and tested. How am I safer?
If I understand our history correctly, your ancestors, like mine, were once one of them. Unlike the rest of humanity, the first Erovian left of his own accord.
He wanted to shout at Keegan to stop speaking in riddles. It was as if in coming into this bizarre realm, the king had learned a foreign tongue. Clutching the tome to his chest like a shield, Jarrod said, Speak plainly.
This is the place of Beginning, Jarrod. From which Ryca, and all the other worlds, were crafted. Where all people, all animals, all dragons even, were born.
Jarrod’s whole being vibrated with recognition of Keegan’s words as truth.
“The first Erovian, Falcon, stepped out of this dark mass to create life,” Keegan continued, but this time aloud, “and then he set up the inhabitants of Erov as life’s guardians.”
A shiver spun through Jarrod like a whirlwind.
“Falcon,” a local moaned, as if it, too, reacted to the king’s statement.
“One of us, gone, never to return,” another said.
“Not never,” a new voice, nearby, interjected. “Jarrod is here. He has brought Erov home.”
A collective sigh sounded and then a chant began. “Jarrod is here. Erov has returned.”
Chapter 19
Open your book, Keegan said, and read. Start at the beginning. Time both you and these dark ones remembered the truth of what happened after your ancestor, Falcon, left this realm.
Jarrod opened Falcon’s Tome.
“Read!” The dark ones commanded.
Jarrod looked at the first page filled with words he’d never seen. “From Darkness came Light. From Light came Substance. From Substance came Flesh. Then Flesh was returned to Darkness and Light.”
Each word resounded like thunderbolts.
“Yes!” cried the dark ones. “We are darkness!”
“We were once Light!” the rest shouted and Jarrod heard astonishment in those voices.
Jarrod looked up. He had a rapt audience.
“We were darkness. We became Light!”
“There must be no Light,” a voice boomed in the distance. “Light is abomination. Light was crafted by twisting darkness. All light must be consumed…brought back into our dark fold.”
Jarrod hugged the book to his chest as if to protect the words. A band of Light shot out from inside the book and encircled him as if binding him to the tome. Then something sharp struck his chest, tumbling him backwards into the embrace of the cold dark ones that surrounded him. The book had acted as a shield, protecting him from the pounding he would have otherwise received.
“Who attacks Jarrod?” a dark one asked, sounding as shocked as Jarrod felt. “He must be protected.”
Where the book had shielded him with a band of light, now dark coldness surrounded him like an ice field. Bolt after bolt struck at him. Each time the dark shielding grew thicker, as if these dark ones banded together to guard him.
Keegan? Jarrod murmured silently, afraid for the king, but also concerned he might bring attention to Keegan. What if he wasn’t equally shielded?
I’m fine, the king replied in the barest of whispers. Read on. You’ve struck a nerve. Don’t let go of it.
Jarrod tugged the book away from where it was plastered to his chest. The banding of Light tying him to the tome lengthened but did not break. He was about to carry
on reading when he noticed something else odd. “Eyes are looking back at me from inside the book.”
“Eyes looking back!” the crowd repeated.
Don’t distract them, Keegan urged. Just read.
Ignoring the audience from inside the book was difficult, but Jarrod did his best to focus on the words. “Falcon crafted Light from Darkness. Falcon shifted Light and formed Substance. Falcon shaped Substance to bring forth Flesh. Falcon returned Flesh to Darkness and Light.”
“LIES!” The distant voice boomed.
“Truth!” The chorus replied. “We were once Light. We were once Flesh. We are returned to Darkness.”
Excellent, Keegan mind-whispered. There’s definitely discontent in the fold. We may yet be returned to our world.
“Falcon formed the Circle,” Jarrod read, as fascinated by the words in the tome as his audience. “From Falcon came the Erovians. The Erovians were made Guardians of the Light. Historians of the Circle. Restorers of Balance.”
Jarrod looked at Keegan, understanding and doubt fighting for supremacy. How could we have forgotten we are the Guardians of the Light? Is this true?
You are reading from Falcon’s Tome. Has it ever contained anything false? Is it capable of lies?
Questions crowded inside Jarrod. He could understand and accept the Erovians were meant to be Guardians of the Light. Restorers of Balance? That did not imply a hand’s-off approach to life.
Those words sounded as if Erov was meant to fix things when magic went wrong. As it had when Tamarisk used his influence on Keegan’s brother to ban magic on Ryca. It meant that in Jarrod helping Saira defeat Tamarisk, he hadn’t been going against the role of his people, he had been doing exactly what his people were meant to do.
“Guardians of the Light,” the dark ones intoned. “Historians of the Circle. Restorers of Balance. Why are you here? Why have you come home?”
“I summoned him,” the distant voice said. “Like Falcon, I formed Flesh from Darkness and set forth as Tamarisk to return all Light back to Darkness. The guardian interfered with my sacred mission. My Light was prematurely returned to Darkness. I have brought the guardian home to account for his actions. To receive retribution. Release him to face my justice!”
Who speaks? Jarrod whispered to Keegan.
Our kidnapper, Keegan replied, sounding shockingly gleeful. He seems unhappy with your role in helping my Saira stop him from ripping Light from Ryca. Serves him right, for if he is in some part Tamarisk, then he is responsible for sending me to Ashari, prematurely. Jarrod, this could work to our benefit. He added aloud, “Who are you to interfere with Falcon’s child?”
That was unhelpful! Jarrod said, alarmed by the way Keegan kept throwing him back into the lion’s den.
“Who interferes with Falcon’s child?” a dark one nearby asked.
“I did,” the distant voice replied. “I am your god.”
The silence following that proclamation was profound.
“We are Chaos,” a quiet voice then said tentatively from right beside Jarrod. “Chaos has no god.”
“Chaos has no god,” the chorus chanted.
“I am your god. I have been your god through all of time.”
Jarrod heard worry in that deep tone and felt a little encouraged. The fact the dark ones protecting him had not released their shield was even more comforting.
“I am your god,” the distant voice insisted. “From me you were torn by Falcon the Damned. I know what we need.”
“Chaos has no need,” Jarrod’s dark neighbor replied.
“Chaos has no need,” the chorus chanted.
“We must be one again,” the distant voice insisted. “We must not be dispersed, divided, disconnected.”
“We are Chaos,” Jarrod’s neighbor argued. “We are dispersed. We are divided. We are disconnected.”
Jarrod wanted to clap him on his back in cheerful support but caution impeded.
“We are Light and we are Darkness,” the chorus added.
“We need no god,” his dark neighbor said.
“We need no god,” the chorus chanted. “We need you no more.”
“NO!” cried the lone voice in the distance, now sounding truly terrified.
Suddenly, the dark bands of coldness protecting Jarrod vanished. He was left with the Light of Falcon’s Tome holding him steady. A pregnant hush descended.
Jarrod sensed emptiness settle around him and Keegan. In one instant, all the dark ones had vanished, including his vocal dark neighbor.
He looked toward Keegan’s dim glow in worry. What’s happening?
For once, the king appeared speechless.
Then the dark beings returned, buzzing like locusts.
“Send the guardian back.” His dark neighbor said. “Brought here in blunder. Debt yet to be repaid.”
“Send back the guardian,” the chorus repeated.
“And my companion?” Jarrod asked quickly, worried Keegan would otherwise end up like the self-proclaimed God of Chaos.
“And his companion,” the locals replied and began to chant, speaking quicker and louder. “Flesh returned to Darkness. Darkness consumed Flesh. Flesh came from Substance. Now Darkness returns Substance to Flesh. Light once infused Substance. Light is put back into Substance.”
The voices paused as if for a collective breath.
Jarrod remembered the eyes watching him from inside Falcon’s Tome. His suspicions blossomed about to whom those eyes belonged.
He turned to Keegan. “I suppose this is a bad time to bring up my missing historians?”
“Let’s hope we’re not the ones missing by the time they’re finished with us. My only hope is that Tamara, Skye and Bevan are safe.” He gave a wistful sigh. “Just once, I’d have given anything to be the father Tamara wanted and go to her when she needs me.”
In a booming voice, the chorus interrupted. “Flesh begone from Darkness! For justice has been dispensed.”
* * *
“All this time, everyone could read my mind and I didn’t know it?” An intense feeling of imposition and horror waged war within Tamara.
“Just all dragons,” Fane said and then laughed. At her murderous look, he quickly swallowed the sound.
NOT POLITE TO SPEAK UNTIL SPOKEN TO, Kiron added with studied calm.
Tamara’s insides were a vice squeezing her guts. She lost herself, her aloneness. She had become accustomed to the sense of separateness that had cloaked her during her years of confinement. She felt exposed, vulnerable, as if the top of her skull had been ripped open so strangers could peer inside.
It was all too much. She ran into the clearing, allowing rain to pelt her head, face and shoulders. In moments, she was soaked. She stumbled to a halt in the muddy ground and fell to her knees.
Turning her face upward, she voiced her protest to the raping of her privacy. “Nooooo!” Her cry rang out in the night sky, a soulful counterpoint to Light’s fury.
Only after the grip on her insides loosened did her mind quiet. She felt no less violated, but was able to breathe again with ease. Feeling better for having released that built-up tension, shoulders down, head bowed, she stood and slowly returned to their shelter.
Her friends looked on with varying degrees of concern.
“Well,” Fane said, “now you’ve let that out, could you see if you can sense where Bevan and Skye are?”
The suggestion set Tamara back. Fane was right. If her “talent” was for communicating without restraint with others, perhaps she could touch Bevan’s or Skye’s thoughts.
Excitement replaced resentment and Tamara took a deep steadying breath. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on Bevan. Short blond hair. Quite, studious, talented. Up to her shoulder in height. His face was…before she finished the thought, he said, Aunt Tamara? Is that you?
A swell of happiness brought tears. Bevan. Hang on, she told him. Not much longer now. We’re coming for you.
She ended, and opened her eyes to smile triumphantly.
Next, she extended her senses in search of Skye and Thyel. She found them instantly. He ran, filled with a sense of impending doom, dragging a stumbling Skye with him.
Grim satisfaction at his panicked state wrapped her in a warm hug. Run, she silently urged him. Run as if retribution were on your trail.
Tamara? Skye said in shock.
Bevan’s all right, she whispered to her niece. Stay strong until we get to you.
There was one more person she wanted to contact. For that, she needed a bit more of a push. Looking up at the lightning indiscriminately littering the sky with magic, Tamara reached for that raw energy.
To her amazement, Light responded. Like a night sky filled with stars, it flickered in recognition of her presence. A thousand shooting stars flew toward Tamara and slammed into her chest and spread outward to envelop her. She was swept up in that warm welcoming embrace, like a fierce hug from a long-lost friend.
She cried out in joy, no longer feeling left out, no longer an outsider, no longer alone.
With that loving energy boosting her strength and confidence, like shifting aside a heavy curtain, Tamara edged passed the boundary between worlds and went in search of her father and Jarrod.
Thoroughly frustrated, Tamara snapped her eyes open. “I can’t sense them at all.”
“Skye and Bevan?” Fane asked.
“I found them. Not father and Jarrod. They’re not on Ashari. I saw the fields and the lake, but they’re not there.”
“I’m sorry.” Fane sounded dazed. “Did you say you reached across into another world?”
DRAGONS CAN CROSS REALMS, Kiron said, matter-of-factly. SO WHY NOT QUEEN OF DRAGONS?
The fact she could hear Kiron without even trying still amazed Tamara. As did the dragons’ insistence she was their queen. Neither of those facts, however, held her attention for long. “Could Jarrod have vanished like the other historians?” Just saying the words made her pulse flutter in horror. She couldn’t have lost him.
Hushed, Tales of Ryca, Book 2 Page 25